I Thought You Were Dead
by ACoolUsername
Summary: Melisandre resurrected Jon Snow. With nowhere to go, he accompanies her to the Vale. Unbeknownst to him, his sister Sansa is in hiding there, under the watchful eye of slimy Petyr Baelish. I'm not sure if I'll finish this. I just carried it over from my Wattpad account. I figured I might as well put it out here. Please review!
1. Chapter 1

Jon Snow dreamed at night.

He dreamed of his dead brothers and lost sisters. He dreamed of the Wall, and relived his icy death many times over. He dreamed of ravens and wolves and dragons and snow and fire, of the dead walking.

He dreamed of death.

_I am dead,_ he reminded himself. It didn't matter that he was breathing and walking, he had still died. He would have remained that way if not for the Red Woman.

_Melisandre_.

She wouldn't tell him what transpired after his black brothers betrayed him. Every time he asked, she only responded with mysterious words and predictions, speaking of White Walkers and a mysterious Other, of Dragons and Ice and Fire and shadows. All the things he dreamed of.

He recalled the icy pain of cold knives in his flesh. And hearing howling, the howling of Ghost. Melisandre had been right when she warned Jon to keep his wolf close. His mouth twisted in bitterness as he remembered Ghost's agitated behavior shortly before the betrayal. Ghost had known; Ghost would have saved him. But Jon hadn't listened, hadn't paid attention, and now his beloved direwolf was most likely dead.

"You're looking back," said Melisandre. Her ruby eyes bored into him. "You regret the choices you have made."

Jon didn't feel like having another lesson from her. All Melisandre spoke of was prophecies and predictions and battles and fire, what she saw in the flames. He was tired of it. He wanted solid truth, for once. "I want to know where we're going."

The Red Woman eyed him. "I have told you, Jon Snow, it is not yet for you to know. Even I don't fully know, yet. The future is still unclear. In time, the flames will reveal it."

This cryptic response infuriated Jon, but he hid it well.

"If you can't say what our final destination is, at least tell me which region we're in. This doesn't look like the North."

"The Vale," said she. "We are in the Vale."

House Arryn ruled the Vale, Jon remembered. Lady Catelyn's sister, Lysa, was Lady. If all went well, he wouldn't encounter her. He was a deserter of the Night's Watch; his life was forfeit. Melisandre told him he was free from his vows because he had died. No one in the Seven Kingdoms would know that, therefore his life was still forfeit. For all anyone else would know, Jon had deserted.

Jon wished he could have been freed from his vows before all his siblings died. He could have fought for Robb, protected Sansa and Arya, saved Bran and Rickon. Instead he was forced to hear of his family's fall from afar, unable to do anything about it. It was ironic. The whole of House Stark dead and gone, and all that was left was the bastard, Jon Snow. And it was possible for him to inherit Winterfell but what he once wanted, he wanted no more. How could he? He couldn't rebuild Winterfell with his family dead.

_Not just my family. I'm dead, too. We're all dead._

"You've been hiding things from me."

Littlefinger turned around as Sansa entered the room, hands clasped like a dutiful lady.

"My Lord?" Sansa inquired, surprised.

Her heart pulsed, but she looked calm.

Petyr Baelish smiled.

"I know about Sweetrobin. Did you think I wouldn't find out?"

"Lord Baelish, I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about," Sansa replied.

His green eyes never left hers as he stepped close. But she stood her ground.

"Robin's sweetmilk," he said. "You've neglected giving it to him. May I ask why?"

Sansa breathed out. It was not as she feared.

She had to explain why she was dumping Robin's sweetmilk, though. Littlefinger couldn't know she was on to his intentions.

"Lord Baelish, I'm sorry, I didn't know the milk was so important to you. I've been dumping it, because I fear it's not healthy for Robin. He doesn't like drinking it, and he only seems to get worse after. I was quite distressed."

Her blue eyes widened in appeal, innocent and girlish.

Baelish narrowed his eyes, but stepped away, visibly relaxing. "It's alright, Alayne."

_My name is Sansa._

"In fact," Baelish continued, "I agree. That sweetmilk doesn't do wonders for little Lord Arryn. But it wouldn't do for it to go to waste. Find someone to give it to. Someone who needs it." His devilish green eyes were cold.

Sansa nodded.

"Now," Littlefinger said. "I've almost completed the arrangements for you. Harry the Heir will guest here in two day's time."

"Does he know about me?"

Baelish smiled shrewdly. "He knows there's a beautiful girl waiting for him. My informants will have made sure. He doesn't know who you are. I wouldn't trust a third party with your secret."

"Of course you wouldn't, Lord Baelish. You're far too smart for that."

Littlefinger looked satisfied. "When Harry the Heir arrives, you know what to do. In the meantime, continue to take care of Robin. We need you to look like you have a purpose here, instead of being my bastard daughter. Else people will be displeased, and word will get out of the 'upjumped usurper' and his bastard, living like royalty in Lord Arryn's home. And we can't have that now, can we?"

"No, my Lord."

His eyes raked over her. "I trust you'll know what to do when your groom arrives."

"I'm to keep him occupied. Distract him." _Seduce him._

"Good."

Sansa backed away from Littlefinger before he could steal a kiss, or remark on how beautiful she was or how much she looked like her mother. She wouldn't allow that anymore, unless it served a purpose.

_I'm Sansa Stark. I'll reclaim Winterfell on my own terms. Not his._


	2. Chapter 2

They traveled for a very long time. Ever since Jon joined the Watch, he assumed he would never leave the North, never visit the other kingdoms. Yet here he was, in the Vale.

_Nothing worked out the way I thought it would._

He had thought the Night's Watch was all gallant, honorable men like Benjen. He had thought his family would continue to live, and he'd see them every now and then during visits to Winterfell, like Benjen did. He had thought he'd see his father again, and learn about his mother like Ned promised.

He thought, and was proved wrong.

Melisandre had stopped, and was making a fire again.

"What are you doing?" Jon demanded. "It's still day. The smoke will be visible."

"R'hllor is not defined by day or night," she said. "He does what he pleases. I must look into the flames."

"All you do is look into the flames. And you never tell me what you see, only what you want me to do."

"Not what I want," replied Melisandre. "It is R'hllor's will. I am his servant."

"He is not my god," Jon said. "I worship the Old Gods of the North. I always have, and I always will."

Melisandre stared at him intensely. "Was it your old gods that saved you, that brought you back from death? Was it not your old gods that allowed the destruction of your family? Of Robb, and Arya, and Bran? Of your father? The Starks have always served the Old Gods, and look what's become of them."

"I don't care if your red god brought me back to life. I didn't ask for it, and it shouldn't have happened. I've seen firsthand the effects of dead walking. This is unnatural."

Melisandre said, "R'hllor-"

"R'hllor means nothing to me! And don't ever speak those names to me again. Robb, Arya, Bran. They're all gone. I don't want their memory tarnished by your words."

Jon turned his back, angry.

_I should still be dead. I could be with them. My current state is unnatural, and wrong._

_I should be with my family, not following the Red Woman on a fool's journey. _

Melisandre was looking into the fire. She seemed to see things. Jon saw nothing, no matter how hard he looked. _You know nothing, Jon Snow._

After a while, Melisandre ceased her staring into the flames, and said something Jon didn't like one bit.

"We must go to the Eyrie."

"Why?" said Jon.

"It is R'hllor's will."

"You see many things in the flames," Jon said bitterly.

_Like my 'sister'._

Melisandre carefully put out her fire. " You blame me for the loss of your sister, Jon Snow," she said. "Although it was never your sister in the first place."

"You led me to believe it was," he said. "You made me hope. And then you failed."

She straightened up, and her unsettling red eyes bored into his. "I failed nothing. You know nothing, Jon Snow. I am not infallible. I make mistakes. I am merely a servant of the Lord of Light, and I am dedicated to carrying out his will. And the Lord of Light wills me to bring you to him. And it shall be done. Whether or not it pleases you."

"Bring me to your Lord of Light?" Jon said in disbelief. "And where is this Lord of Light? King's Landing?"

"You know nothing," she responded. "At least Stannis knew what he was doing."

"Because you didn't hide things from Stannis. Don't compare me to him."

"As you wish," the Red Priestess replied.

_You truly know nothing, Jon Snow._

Sansa paced around her chambers, anxiously nibbling her lip. Littlefinger was suspicious, she was sure of it. He was far too clever, and she hadn't been playing the game as long as he had. The game of thrones.

Her plan was to fake Robin's death and have him smuggled to Runestone, under the protection of loyal Bronze Yohn. She couldn't allow Littlefinger to poison her young cousin. Not only was it a detestable thing to do, but it would lead to Sansa being married off to Harrold Hardyng, no doubt another man who would seek to possess her for her beauty and claim, and Littlefinger controlling the North and Vale through her. Sansa did not want Littlefinger having any control over her homeland.

But how to proceed?

Sansa wanted him dead. There was no doubt about that. She despised Littlefinger, hated him with all her being. She had learned of how he betrayed her father in King's Landing, and his crawling gaze upon her made her shudder.

At least, Littlefinger was unaware of how much she hated him. As far as he was concerned, Sansa was a meek little girl who depended on him for protection. She put up with his crawling gaze, and his constant request for kisses, and the subtle way he groped her at times. She did it for Winterfell, for the Vale.

If Robin lived, then Sansa would have the Vale's support without having to marry. Robin was her cousin, and he knew her, lived her even. Sansa had been like a mother to him. Harry Hardyng, on the other hand, she did not know him, and the stories she heard were less than flattering.

Winterfell would be hers to take. She was the last Stark, the North would rise for her. Of that she had no doubt. The Northern lords had always loved the Starks, especially houses Mormont, Glover, and Manderly. All she had to do was drive the Boltons out if Winterfell.

She would do that gladly. She would flay them, the way they flayed their enemies. She would destroy their house, eradicate it's existence.

Sansa shuddered.

_What am I becoming?_

The old Sansa would never dream of flaying anyone, much less enjoy the prospect. But she did. She enjoyed the thought of flaying the Boltons.

The old Sansa would never have dreams of revenge, plan special punishment for her enemies like she did now.

For Cersei Lannister, Sansa would imprison her like she was imprisoned. She would take her gowns and jewels and humiliate her like Sansa was humiliated. She would lock her up and make an example of her. If Joffrey still lived Sansa would execute him in front of his mother, but oh well, a maiden could dream.

For the Freys… Oh, Sansa had a very specific punishment for them. She would execute all Walder Frey's children and grandchildren in front of him while he watched. She would throw their bodies into the river, the way they did to Mother and Robb. She would cut off their heads. Then, once House Frey had no more heirs, she would relish taking the Late Lord Walder's insignificant life.

And of course she would have the Boltons flayed alive. Then she would kill them.

Sometimes it scared her, the depth of hate and desire for vengeance she felt, but then she remembered what they did to her family and House, and she felt angry.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:**

**I must let you readers know, that getting reviews inspires me to continue a story. When I add new chapters I always check for reviews, so I am quite disappointed that this story has only one review. Please review my story, otherwise I might not want to finish it because I don't know what you all think!**

**Thank you. ^_^**

"Robin!" Sansa sobbed. She stared at his limp body, cold and pale. "Someone help!" She cried.

Servants and guards came running. "Milady?"

Sansa cradled her young cousin's body close. "It's Robin," she wept. "I- I think he's d- dead."

The two maids gasped in horror, hands flying to their mouths as they stared at the limp body of their lord.

The rest of it was all a blur for Sansa. Littlefinger was of course notified right away, and she did not miss the satisfied expression in his eyes as he examined Robin's body, or the gleam in his eye as he 'comforted' her.

"My daughter has a sensitive heart," he explained to the maester. Sansa sniffled, unable to keep her eyes off Robin's corpse.

"How did he die?" She asked, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief.

Littlefinger pursed his lips in a regretful expression. "It was only a matter of time," he said. "Little lord Robin was a very sick child. You know that, Alayne."

Sansa nodded. "I do," she whispered so only he could hear. "But it's just that…. Well, I've lost another family member yet again."

Littlefinger embraced her, and she tried not to recoil. "There, there, Alayne." His hands squeezed her hips.

_Slimy lecher,_ she thought.

He pulled back and gazed at her with false sympathy. "Sweetling, why don't you go take a rest?" He suggested. "You've spent all your time caring for the little lord, and now you must deal with the grief of losing him."

Sansa nodded and sniffled. "Yes, father."

No one saw the secret smile she had as she left the room.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

"But I don't want to go," Robin sniffled.

Sansa adjusted his cloak. "Hush, now, SweetRobin," she said. "Lord Yohn will take you to his castle. You're their leige lord. They'll need you to show them how to be strong, like you are. Isn't that so, Lord Royce?" She looked up at the Lord of Runestone.

Bronze Yohn Royce nodded gruffly, his slate gray eyes unreadable.

Tears streamed down Robin's face. He was being quiet for once, thank the gods.

"But you won't be there," he cried.

Sansa was unsettled to realize she did not want to leave him either.

She bit her lip and gazed at his little face. He was a handsome child, once he was healthy and gained a little color in his cheeks. Sansa had been taking care of him for the past moonturn. She took him outside to play, to let him bask in the fresh cold air and put more life into him. She dumped all the poisoned sweetmilk. She let him stay with her at night, to keep him safe and happy. All this she did for her own benefit, or so she thought, but now she realized, she cared for him.

He had Tully blue eyes, like her. Eyes that were now clear and bright with health.

She gathered him into her arms like Mother used embrace her. "It won't be forever, Robin," she whispered. "Once all the bad men are gone, we'll see each other again, I promise."

He pulled back. "You are going to defeat the bad men? Will you throw them out the Moon Door?"

"Yes." Sansa laughed despite the tears filling her eyes.

Once Robin was all saddled up, Sansa turned to Bronze Yohn.

"Please, take care of him," she said.

Bronze Yohn's eyes softened. "I will, my lady," he promised. "You have my word. I will guard him with my life." His voice was not so booming as usual.

Sansa nodded and lowered her eyes.

"I wanted to fight for your brother," Bronze Yohn said. "I knew your father. He grew up here, in the Vale. He was a good man."

"Thank you, my lord," Sansa said tremulously.

He studied her. "It's not too late," he said gently. "You could come with us. Stay at Runestone and gather support from there. We can protect you from Lord Littlefinger."

Sansa raised her eyes to his and was reminded of her father, in the fatherly look Bronze Yohn had in his eyes. It was the first time in a long while that a man had looked at her like she wasn't a piece of meat for them to own.

"Thank you, my lord, but I cannot," she said quietly. "Littlefinger is here, and he is far too smart. He mustn't think anything is amiss."

Lord Yohn looked regretful. "Be safe, my lady. Farewell."

She stood there for a long time and watched as they disappeared from sight.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

"Now that Little Lord Robin is dead, Harrold Hardyng is the Lord of the Vale," Littlefinger said. "Most convenient, as he is already on his way here."

"What will you do, my lord?" Sansa inquired. "Harrold Hardyng is of age, so you will no longer be Lord Protector."

His green eyes flashed with something unpleasant. Then it was gone, and he smiled.

"Why, I'll put my plan into action, of course."

Sansa had already guessed what his grand plan was. He would have her seduce and marry Harrold Hardyng, so that he could control the Vale through them. Once Sansa had a child, he would kill Hardyng, then regain the North with the Vale's army. Once they had Winterfell, Littlefinger would no doubt attempt to claim her for himself, possibly marry her, and then he'd be sitting smugly on top of the Vale and North, with Sansa at his side like some trophy meant only to please him.

_That will not be happening._

"I have unfortunate news, my darling," Littlefinger continued. Sansa tensed.

"Yes?"

He looked regretful. "It seems your bastard brother is dead. I thought I might be the one to tell you, instead of you hearing it from some gossiping stranger."

Sansa went cold all over. "Jon?" She managed in a strangled voice.

He looked disinterested. "Was that his name? Ah, yes. The Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. It seems he was betrayed by his own men."

Sansa's heart pounded. _Do not react. Do not react._

It was a struggle to keep from falling to the floor in despair. Jon, Jon, her sweet and solemn half-brother, whom she had never been particularly close to but missed just the same, because he was part of Winterfell just like her. One of the last Starks, just like her.

Knowing Jon was alive out there had kept her going, the thought of seeing him again, a piece of home, gave her hope. She had clung to thoughts of him these past moonturns, finding solace in the knowledge that she was not truly alone. That she was not the only one who had lost Winterfell.

"Why did they kill him?" She whispered.

Littlefinger looked very sympathetic. She saw right through it.

"He had let wildlings past the Wall, it seems, and some of the men were quite displeased. On top of that, he was about to break his vows and ride for Winterfell to free lady Arya."

Sansa felt the despair give way to anger. "Who did it?" She demanded.

Littlefinger gave a sly smile. "I was not told their names, only that they had done it. But one Bowen Marsh, I believe, led the attack on your brother in the courtyard. They stabbed him full of knives."

Sansa mentally added the name Bowen Marsh to her list of people to punish.

_Mayhaps throw him out to freeze, naked. With a knife to take his own life when he cannot bear the cold._

A knock at the door interrupted them. Littlefinger had been gazing intensely at her, and now he looked irritated. "Who is it?" He called.

"We have travelers, my lord," a servant called.

Littlefinger stood up and brushed her hair back. "Do not fret, Sweetling," he said. "Once you have Winterfell, you can punish them for their crime."

Sansa met his eyes. "Thank you, Father."

He arched his eyebrows. "How about a kiss for your father, before I go to deal with our unknown guests?"

Sansa fought back a shudder and leaned forward to peck him on the lips. Unfortunately, before she could quickly pull back, he pressed his hands to the small of her back and pulled her against him. The kiss lasted a few seconds before he let her go, looking satisfied.

_I hate you._

"Now," he said, licking his lips, "you stay in here while I go to greet the travelers. We can't take the chance that they might know you, can we?"

"Of course not, Father."

She watched him stride toward the door, and she imagined a new punishment for him.

_Toss him out the Moon Door._


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:**

**So here's another chapter. Thanks for the reviews, keep em' coming!**

**Also, I have something to say.**

**When I first posted this story, I had the pairing set as Jon/Sansa. But then I remembered, that when I first got the idea for this story, that I'd intended on having Aegon come to the Vale and marry her, and it was going to be all romantic and stuff! So I reset the character pairing to Aegon/Sansa.**

**But then that didn't feel right, so I removed the pairing setting altogether. I don't know why, but suddenly Jon/Sansa feels more right to me. Actually, I think I do know why! It's the fault of all those amazing Jon/Sansa fics I read! Damn you Jon/Sansa shippers! You sucked me in!**

**Anyway, thiis clarification for anyone who might be confused about why the pairing setting kept changing. I'm sorry.**

**Also, please review. :)**

The Gates of the Moon was a stout, majestic castle. It had a moat. Upon seeing it for the first time, Jon gaped, turning back into the boy in Winterfell who dreamed of seeing the world someday.

Upon entering the castle, Jon had a strange sense of anticipation, like something was waiting for him. He couldn't fathom it. He just felt a shiver as he entered the castle, and his heart was pounding. Perhaps because he feared being recognized. His father had grown up in the Vale, after all, and Jon looked like him, and wore black besides. Starks were endangered these days. Someone would almost certainly recognize him.

Melisandre told the guards she was there on behalf of Stannis, to negotiate with the Vale for their support, and that she requested an audience with the Lord Protector, Petyr Baelish.

"I thought Lysa Tully ruled here," Jon whispered, confused.

Melisandre kept her gaze level and ahead as they were escorted through the halls of the castle. "Lysa Arryn has long been dead. It is her husband, Petyr Baelish, that rules here now."

_Littlefinger._

Jon recognized the name. Petyr Baelish had grown up in Riverrun with Lady Catelyn and her siblings. He'd lost a duel with Brandon Stark over Lady Catelyn's hand. He remembered Sansa excitedly repeating the tale to Jon and Robb in bed one night, sighing over the romance of it all.

Back when they were young, Robb and Sansa used to come to Jon's room and share his bed.

The memory made Jon sad.

He never missed his family as much as he did in that moment. He was suddenly consumed by memories of them. Sansa, teaching him to dance in the Godswood, giggling as he tripped awkwardly over his growing feet. Robb, punching a stable boy in the face for calling Jon a bastard. Arya, jumping out at him from some bushes and scaring him out of his wits. Bran, leaping from a window to land in his arms, giggling. And Rickon, toddling after them all, trying to keep up, only to fall on his rump and wail, and Jon running back and picking him up.

"Here," a guard said brusquely, pushing open a door. Melisandre glided ahead of him and through the door, and Jon followed. He glanced around warily. He felt uneasy for some reason.

A small, sly man with a cunning green gaze and a pointed goatee was sitting in the Lord's seat. Jon didn't know why, but he immediately distrusted him on sight.

Melisandre glided forward and bowed her head. "Lord Baelish." She said smoothly.

Lord Baelish stood from his seat and approached them. "The infamous Lady Melisandre. A pleasure. What brings Stannis's Red Woman to the Vale?"

"Business, of course," Melisandre said calmly. "I'm here to negotiate on behalf of Stannis Baratheon, the rightful King of Westeros. But you knew that."

Baelish smiled thinly. "Indeed."

He looked at Jon then. Jon Snow tensed up, and tried to keep his face blank. He returned Baelish's gaze levelly.

Lord Baelish suddenly had a sharp expression as he looked at Jon. "And who is your companion?"

Jon shifted uneasily. Could Baelish know who he was? Jon looked like a Stark, after all, and besides having known Brandon Stark, Baelish had been part of Robert Baratheon's court. He had been in King's Landing with Father and the girls.

Melisandre waved her hand dismissively. "A man of the Night's Watch, escorting me."

Jon cleared his throat. "Ben Snow."

Jon had chosen an alias to use. Ben, short for Benjen. Snow, because he had the look and mannerisms of a highborn, yet he couldn't use a name from any noble houses because it would arouse suspicion.

Littlefinger narrowed his eyes and smiled. "So you are."

He began conversing with Melisandre once more, completely ignoring Jon.

Jon was all too glad to be ignored. He stood there and stared ahead, tuning out the conversation between Baelish and Melisandre.

A figure peeked into the entrance of the room. As Jon watched, the figure walked in and became a young maiden. Her head was down and she clutched the skirts of her gown. Her hair was long and dark, partially obscuring her face.

There was something familiar about her… Jon couldn't quite fathom it, but-

She looked up, and Jon caught his breath.

_What_

_It can't be…_

There was a single moment, where everything was still; Jon stared, and she gaped at him, disbelief written clearly over her beautiful face. She opened her mouth, to say something, but-

"Alayne!"

Littlefinger's voice cut through the moment, and Jon remembered how dangerous it was to be a Stark, so he forced his gaze from her and assumed a blank expression. But underneath, his heart pounded, with relief and fear and gladness and confusion and worry and anticipation.

She, too, rearranged her expression into one of pleasant blankness. Her eyes flicked to Baelish, who was approaching with his arms outstretched.

"How are you, Sweetling?" Littlefinger murmured, as he embraced her. Jon didn't miss the way she recoiled and the look of distaste that quickly hid itself.

"I am well, Father," Alayne replied. Her blue eyes darted to Jon's and then away.

Littlefinger squeezed the small of her back, she cringed, and Jon felt angry. How dare he touch her like that!

Littlefinger pulled away and eyed Jon smugly. "This is my natural daughter, Alayne," he introduced smoothly. "She's a bastard, too. Alayne Stone. Alayne, Sweetling, why don't you show our visitors to the Guest Rooms?"

To Melisandre, he said, "We will continue our negotiations on the morrow, my lady." Melisandre inclined her head, her face smooth and unreadable.

Jon struggled to keep his eyes from Alayne. His gaze landed on Littlefinger, who was smirking at him. A feeling of dread filled him.

_He knows_.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Sansa walked ahead of the guests, her heart pounding in her ears. She felt his gaze on her back.

_Jon,_ she thought. _I can't believe it. Jon, Jon, it's my big brother Jon. And he's alive._

No words could describe what she felt when she first saw him. She'd been drawn to the Great Hall out of pure curiosity, having heard stories of the Red Woman from Myranda. She had walked into the Hall with her head lowered to reinforce her image as a lowly bastard, and then she glanced up to see a boy with wide gray eyes and unruly black curls, staring at her, and she knew, she recognized him-

Sansa felt like weeping.

"My lady," she heard his voice at her shoulder, low and husky. "Are-"

"Yes, we are almost there," Sansa said brightly. There were eyes everywhere. She glanced at him and saw his frown, but he said nothing more.

It registered that this was the first time she heard him speak. His voice was a little deeper than before, but still familiar- still home.

_I cannot believe it,_ she thought, giddy. But then she remembered- Littlefinger. As long as he lived and Jon remained around her, Jon was not safe. It would not surprise her if Petyr had already deduced Jon's identity.

She risked a quick glance at him, and was startled to find him already looking at her. He had a sorrowful expression on his face.

Sansa quickly looked away.

_This is dangerous,_ she thought.

Their father grew up in the Vale. Jon's face would be recognized.

With a jolt, Sansa realized his situation was quite similar to hers. An endangered member of the lost House Stark, highly recognizable by appearance and very well-known.

_At least we are together now,_ she thought.

_When the cold winds blow, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives._

_And I am no longer the lone wolf._


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:**

**Hi. So, I'm sorry I took so long to post. Right after I posted chapter four, I was about to post chapter five, but a review I got discouraged me. However, I keep getting more reviews, good ones, and I couldn't disappoint anyone.**

**Enjoy!**

Jon Snow paced in his quarters.

_My sister is here,_ he thought dazedly. _She's alive._

She looked remarkably different. Besides the dark hair, she was taller and more womanly. When last he saw her, on that fateful day the King's party left Winterfell with Father and the girls, she'd been a small, pretty girl of three and ten, still a child. Now she was recognizably older, but Jon had grown up with her; he'd recognize her anywhere.

She would be six and ten, now. It had been three years. Two years since Jon had seen any of his family.

_I need to talk to her,_ he thought desperately.

He'd tried to talk to her, on their way to the Guest Rooms, but she'd brushed him off. He was astute enough to realize why. It wasn't safe to be who they were.

_But I need to see her._

He drew on his cloak.

He slipped out of the room, treading softly down the halls.

Of course he didn't think he would find her lurking around the halls in the dead of night. But he needed to walk, to clear his thoughts and calm his pounding heart.

Last he heard of Sansa, she'd disappeared from King's Landing after poisoning Joffrey. Jon hadn't believed she would poison anyone, not Sansa. But if she did, well, he'd thought _good for her._

Now she was in the Vale. He hadn't the faintest idea how she could've ended up here, what with the countless people searching for her.

But she was here. And he had to protect her.

He rounded the corner at the end of the hall, only to freeze at the sight of her waiting there.

She stared up at him, stricken looking. Jon stared back.

Finally he spoke.

"Sansa." His voice cracked.

"Jon." Suddenly, she was pressed against him, her arms wrapped around him, shaking. "I thought you were dead."

Jon was taken aback by this enthusiastic greeting. He and Sansa had been the most distant with each other out of all their siblings, due to his being a bastard and her being the perfect lady. But he thought of what happened to their family, and he hugged her back tightly. She was his sister and she was here, alive and safe.

She pulled back and put her hands on his cheeks. "I've missed you." Tears welled up in her eyes but didn't spill.

He still didn't speak, just gazed at her. He couldn't believe it. It was Sansa. After three years of thinking his family was gone, she was here.

Sansa buried her head in his chest again. She was tall, but he still had a half a head on her.

"I thought you were dead, too," Jon breathed.

Sansa pulled away and glanced around, her expression afraid. "In here," she whispered, taking his hand and leading him into an empty room. She shut and locked the door behind them.

When she turned around, Jon was standing close to her.

"Sansa," he said. "You don't- you have no idea how happy I am to see you. That you're alive."

He looked sad. Her heart constricted.

_He shouldn't be sad,_ she thought._ We've found each other._

They were never the closest. When they were younger, yes, they'd been inseparable along with Robb. Then they grew older and the other children were born, and Sansa became preoccupied with being a perfect lady. Her mother's opinion of Jon had affected the way she treated him as well. She was never unkind, she still loved him as her brother and played with him sometimes, but her mother's influence caused her to refer to him as her half-brother, and even ignore him sometimes. Of course she was fond of him, but she barely ever showed it.

But all of that didn't matter now, because their brothers and sister and father were dead, along with her mother, and they were the last of Winterfell. And they were reunited.

"And you don't know how much I've missed you," Sansa said tearily.

"Are you alright? Are- are you safe?"

Sansa bit her lip.

"No. And neither are you," she confessed.

"I already know that."

"It's not safe to be one of us."

"I know that, as well," Jon said grimly.

"He's dangerous, Jon. He betrayed Father, in King's Landing. He started this war."

"Who?" Jon flatly.

"Littlefinger. He was in love with my mother. He hated Father."

Jon finally released her and pulled away, an angry look upon his face. "I knew there was something off about him," he muttered.

"You are not safe here. You look too much like Father."

Jon looked pained. "Do you want me to leave?" He didn't think he could bear to leave her, even if she didn't want him here.

Her eyes widened. "No! I'd have you with me always, if I could. But- Littlefinger is too dangerous. He might already know who you are."

Jon's gray eyes narrowed. "Did he hurt you?"

_My brother,_ she thought._ He would kill to protect me. And not for any ulterior motive for personal gain or lust, but because he loves me._

"No," said Sansa. "I look too much like my mother for him to want to."

Jon took her meaning well enough. "Has he touched you?" He said indignantly.

Sansa cringed. "No!" _Unless you count the groping and kisses._

"But he wants to."

"He has plans for me. He wouldn't dare. At least not yet." Sansa said bitterly.

"What are these plans?"

"He plans to marry me to Harrold Hardyng." At Jon's blank look, she added, "he's the heir to the Vale now that my cousin is dead."

She didn't tell Jon that Robin was alive. The less he knew, the less Littlefinger could get out of him. It was miracle enough that she'd managed to pull off Robin's death and escape, which she hadn't done on her own. Myranda, who was much cleverer than Sansa, had helped, and getting Robin's unconscious body out of the castle had been done by Royce men. All Sansa had done was approach Lord Royce in the first place, and give Robin the potion that would make him seem dead.

She wasn't clever as Littlefinger.

Jon looked stricken. "And then what?"

"Once I'm wed to Harrold Hardyng, the Vale armies will take back the North and make me Queen."

"And what is in all this for Littlefinger?" Jon said stiffly.

"Power, of course. He can never be a King or a great lord, because he's too low-born. And so it's I he seeks to gain power through." Sansa didn't voice her suspicions of Littlefinger's intentions to claim her.

"That snake, in control of the North?" Jon said incredulously.

"I know," Sansa said, nodding. The idea of Littlefinger being in control of their beloved North was ridiculous. He helped murder their previous liege lord, and was a disgusting, scheming worm. He was not worthy of Winterfell.

Sansa shivered. "We'd better return to our rooms," she said softly. "We cannot stay in here forever, and there are eyes everywhere."

Jon looked worried. "Alright," he said. He didn't want to leave her presence, though. He was afraid she would disappear and he'd never see her again.

Sansa seemed to know this. She smiled sadly at him, then embraced him. "I'm so happy you're with me."

Those words meant so much to him.

"As am I." Jon whispered fiercely.

**Seriously. Please review. ^_^**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:**

**Alright, so here's chapter six. Thank you for all the reviews! Also, does anyone know a Tumblr who does Tumblr prompts? And I'm on Tumblr as bloodofwinter, by the way. My blog is dedicated to Houses Stark and Targaryen (though I just started it yesterday, so there's not many posts.) And how should I go about the romance between Jon and Sansa? Any suggestions how I should make it happen? Like who would realize their feelings first, who would kiss who first and how it should happen, what setting... I'm open to suggestions. Thanks!**

Over the next few days, Sansa and Jon barely managed to see each other. Jon had to accompany Melisandre to her negotiations while pretending not to despise Littlefinger with every fiber of his being, and Sansa had to continue pretending to be who she wasn't. It was a dangerous game they played.

What made it worse was that Littlefinger didn't do anything. He didn't hint about Jon's identity, he didn't say anything to Sansa about Jon's presence here. Jon thought maybe he didn't know, until Sansa chastised him for his lack of political knowledge.

"It means he's plotting something, Jon," she'd said, during one of those rare moments they were able to speak together. "He knows who you are, I'm sure of it. He won't say anything to me because you're my brother and I'll warn you. I hate him!" She clenched her fists, looking so unlike the Sansa he'd once known.

Jon grabbed her hands. "Quiet, Sansa. It's alright." He glanced at the curtains of the alcove nervously.

Sansa was trembling, with anger or tears, he didn't know.

"I'm afraid for you," she said softly, putting a slim hand on his cheek. "He won't hurt me, I'm too valuable to him. But you- you look like a man he hated, and he knows what you are to me." She looked ready to cry.

She looked so vulnerable. Jon put a hand over hers on his face, gazing at her. "It's going to be alright. We aren't completely helpless. You'll see." He was trying to reassure himself as much as her.

"And that name," she sniffed. "_Ben Snow,_ Jon? Really? You couldn't have picked one less obvious?"

Jon stared at the floor, blushing, as she chastised him. "I'm a fighter, not a political player, Sansa," he said sheepishly.

"Clearly," she replied, rolling her eyes.

"Sorry."

"It doesn't matter now." Sansa pulled him into a fierce embrace. "Leave the planning to me."

"What exactly are we planning?"

Sansa went into deep thought. "To remove Littlefinger as ruler of the Vale. And keep you alive, of course."

Jon scoffed. "I'm protecting you!"

Sansa looked unimpressed. "In the battlefield, perhaps, but when it comes to political maneuvering, _I_ protect _you_."

Jon harrumphed. Sansa laughed. "We're arguing. It's like we are back in Winterfell!"

Jon gave a wry smile. "Almost," he agreed, thinking it would feel more like home if Arya were here too. The spats she and Sansa would get into…

Jon had another thought. "If you want to remove Littlefinger as ruler of the Vale, who will take his place?"

Sansa looked uncertain. "I hadn't thought of that yet. But Harry the Heir is coming here. And-" she broke off, realizing she was about to mention Robin.

"Harry the Heir," Jon said in an irritated tone. "The one he wants you to marry."

"Yes."

Jon glared at the floor. He didn't want Sansa marrying Harry the Heir. If she did, he wouldn't be able to take her home. She'd be tethered to the Vale.

A soft hand tilted his chin up. "It's alright, Jon," she said softly. "I've no intention of marrying him."

They gazed at each other. There was an unfathomable expression in her blue eyes, something like regret.

"If you're going to be crowned, you'll be expected to marry," he said, frowning.

Sansa dropped her hand in surprise. "Crowned?" She demanded.

"Yes. After Robb you're the heir to the North," Jon responded, wondering why she looked so unhappy with the thought.

"But I'm a girl! You're a man, you should be crowned!"

"Sansa, you know that's not how it goes. I'm a bastard. You're Robb's eldest trueborn sister. You're the Queen in the North."

Sansa said nothing, just stared.

"Why are you so unhappy at the thought of being Queen?"

She hadn't answered him. Now, some days later, Jon spoke to the Red Woman in her rooms.

"When do we leave?" He asked her flatly.

She was sitting at a desk, penning a letter. She put it down and frowned at him. Jon found it strange to see her doing something normal.

"We leave when the negotiations are through," she replied.

"When do you think that will be?"

She returned to her letter. "Are you so eager to leave, Jon Snow?"

Far from it. He wouldn't leave Sansa. "No."

"Because of your sister."

Jon froze. "What?"

"I am not blind. I saw her in my fires. A young girl with auburn hair, playing in the snow with you as a child. Then that same girl, older with dark hair, in the Vale."

"Leave her alone."

Melisandre looked at him with disdain. "What would I possibly do to her? Give her to my fires?"

"Don't you dare!" Jon snarled.

Melisandre laughed, amusement evident on her face. "So very protective. But not too grateful, it seems. If it were not for me, you would not have found her, no?"

Jon gritted his teeth. "Stay away from her," he spat. Then he turned on his heel and left the room.

Upon reaching the Great Hall, he found Littlefinger holding an audience. "Of course, of course," Littlefinger was saying to the arrivals, a sickeningly friendly smile on his face. From Littlefinger's side, Sansa caught sight of him and widened her eyes in mute appeal. When Jon frowned in confusion, she glanced meaningfully to the guests.

Jon shifted his gaze to see a party of noblemen and men-at-arms, all dressed for riding. At the head of the group, speaking to Littlefinger, was a young man the same age as Jon himself. He was tall, with strong features and thick blonde hair. The sigil he wore was a field of checkered red and white.

_Harrold Hardyng?_ Jon wondered. From the dread he had been sensing in Sansa as of late, it had to be. She didn't look forward to meeting or marrying this Harry the Heir. She wouldn't tell him why, he supposed to avoid hurting his feelings, but he'd heard the rumors. Harrold Hardyng already had a bastard or two.

This Harrold Hardyng was by all appearances the perfect knight, handsome, brave and full of chivalry, the knight younger Sansa had dreamed of, but Jon knew that girl was gone.

"Now that Lord Arryn is dead, I suppose I'm Lord of the Vale," Harrold Hardyng said. He didn't sound very happy about it. There was even a slight grimace on his face as he said it.

Littlefinger was calm and courtly, not a trace of the snake he was present. "That's correct," he responded smoothly. "And you'll need a bride, of course."

Jon was angry. _Don't reveal her!_

"Yes," Hardyng said in a glum voice. Littlefinger's grin widened.

_Don't you dare reveal her!_

To his relief, Littlefinger said nothing more on the matter, though Sansa was clenching the skirts of her gown and staring at the floor.

"Let my daughter, Alayne, show you to your rooms. Alayne, Sweetling, won't you?"

"Of course, Father." Sansa continued to stare at the floor, and Jon saw some of the arrivals eyeing her. "This way, my lords." She approached the doorway where Jon stood, the men following her. She glanced up and met his gaze on the way, blue eyes filled with apprehension.

Jon knew he was supposed to keep his distance from her in public, but the way some of those men looked at her made him want to throttle them. He opted for joining Sansa instead.

Harrold Hardyng touched Sansa on the shoulder, and she tensed up. "Alayne, is it?"

When she nodded, he pressed on. "Strange. I didn't know Lord Baelish had any children."

"I'm Alayne Stone, my lord."

Hardyng nodded in comprehension. "Aah."

"A bastard," one of the men chuckled from behind Hardyng. "Something you're more than well acquainted with, Harry."

Jon clenched his teeth.

Hardyng was staring at Sansa. "But it makes you no less beautiful, my lady," he told her with a charming smile.

Sansa did not seem affected by his charm. "Thank you, my lord. But I am no lady."

Harry the Heir blinked, clearly taken aback. No doubt he was used to maidens falling at his feet.

"And no maiden, no doubt," the same man commented from behind Hardyng.

Sansa's shoulders tensed up. Jon had had enough.

"Do not speak to her that way," he ordered, glaring at the man. The man was fairly ordinary looking, with brown hair and brown eyes and no sigil.

The entire group stopped. The man stepped up to Jon. "And who's going to stop me?" He sneered. He looked Jon up and down. "Who are you supposed to be, anyhow?"

"Ben Snow, of the Night's Watch."

The man laughed. "Another bastard! No wonder he's so protective. Are you fucking her? How does she like it, I wonder?"

Jon very nearly punched him, but Hardyng said, "Varen, that's enough," and Sansa grabbed Jon and pulled him towards her. "It is alright, Jon," she whispered.

Harrold Hardyng glanced over at them sharply, and for a moment Jon thought he'd heard them.

"Apologies, my lady," Hardyng said. "Varen doesn't know how to close his mouth. He has immense trouble with it."

"Of course, my lord." Sansa released Jon and said, "your rooms are this way."

Varen glared at Jon the whole way, and Jon made certain to keep close to Sansa.

He didn't miss the way Sansa shook and tried to hide it.


End file.
